<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Thou Famished Grave by kyrilu</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153657">Thou Famished Grave</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu'>kyrilu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>What We Do in the Shadows (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Baby Acquisition, Crack Treated Seriously, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Post-Season/Series 02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:48:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153657</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Staten Island vampire household accidentally acquires a baby. Guillermo, who has since left to work as a monster slayer and fixer for hire, gets involved.</p><p>(The baby is a manticore.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>180</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Thou Famished Grave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Mentions of past Nandor/OMC. This isn’t genuinely a kidfic, because this grew a plot and got weird. I feel like I lost my entire goddamn mind writing this</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Guillermo doesn’t expect to return to the apartment to find his former master sitting at the dining table with his mother. </p><p>The sight is positively surreal: Nandor, regal in his cape and cloak, an untouched plate of empanadas in front of him. His mother is pouring out three mugs of steaming hot chocolate.</p><p>“Finally!” Nandor exclaims. “We have been waiting for nearly fifteen minutes now, Guillermo. Did you know that your mother made this drink for you? It’s going to get cold. Pretty rude of you to keep her waiting.” </p><p>“The fuck are you doing here?” -- are the first words out of Guillermo’s mouth.</p><p>“<em>Cuida tus modales, mijo,</em>” his mother says, frowning. “ ¿<em>Es tu amigo, verdad?</em>”</p><p>Guillermo sighs. “<em>Ama, </em>it’s complicated. Next time, don’t let anyone into the house, even if they say they know me.” He supposes it could have been worse. It could have been Laszlo. </p><p>With an air of resignation, he sinks into the chair across from Nandor and starts sipping the hot chocolate. His mother bustles into the kitchen to wash the pot, leaving them a relative degree of privacy.</p><p>Guillermo says, “I already told you I’m not coming back.”</p><p>Nandor bares his fangs in a sharp-toothed scowl. “What do you take me for? Some kind of pathetic begging beggar? I’m fine. The house is fine. We’re totally fine. It’s only -- there’s been a situation.” An expression of momentary embarrassment flashes across his face, until it’s cast aside for hardened imperiousness.</p><p>“Did the wards break?” Guillermo starts to make rough calculations about what he might have to trade the Brooklyn witch coven in exchange for reinstating the wards. In return for creating specialized talismans for the house, they’d wanted him to fetch a magic wand thing that some vampire in Manhattan had stolen from them, because he was angry about his semen getting squeezed a couple years back. </p><p>It was <em> that </em> kind of wand, though witch-enchanted. Guillermo hadn’t realized until he saw the vibration settings on the side. </p><p>“The wards are <em> fine</em>,” Nandor says, tapping his finger for emphasis. “But something still got past them, and I’m sure you, Mr. Supernatural Mercenary Expert, can handle it. You should’ve realized there was a flaw in this witch plan. Nadja keeps saying, over and over, that we should not be relying on them.” </p><p>Something bypassed the wards? What does that mean? Has the Vampire Council found an alternate way to send assassins, even though the property is guarded by protection magic? </p><p>“I’ll have to show you myself.” Nandor stands and impatiently gestures for Guillermo to follow. “And…” He reaches into his cloak and drops a small bag on the table. It makes a loud clunking noise. “There. You’re hired.”</p><p>Likely ancient currency that no one uses anymore, but maybe there will be some takers on eBay. </p><p>To be fair, the jobs are getting scarce lately. Guillermo’s been offering a patchwork of services here or there: taking down a rogue vampire that was attempting to instill a coup in a Queens vampire community; playing negotiator between frustrated blood bank staff and a ‘nonviolent’ vampire group; catching a cockatrice on the loose in the Central Park Zoo.</p><p>Today was spent tracking down a witch’s runaway familiar. It makes Guillermo vaguely feel like a dirty traitor, even if he’s no one’s servant any longer.</p><p>(This familiar is a dog with three heads that shoots fire out of its mouths, which does assuage his guilt a fraction.)</p><p>The thing is, Guillermo would’ve helped out Nandor and the others <em>pro bono.</em> It’s been eleven long years, with only six months of freedom since the theatre incident. He does want them to be safe, and, well, happy as their immortal selves can be. Bickering and pettiness and indolence all, even if he’s no longer there to pick up their shit and curl up uselessly dreaming in that cramped closet. </p><p>But he respects this gesture for what it is. He tucks the sack of old dirty coins into his coat.</p><p>“Okay,” he says. “I’ll help.”</p><p>“Good.” With a rapid flourish, the vampire picks up the mug of hot chocolate in front of him and dumps it into a potted plant in the corner. </p><p>“--Seriously?” </p><p>“I will be off now,” Nandor says to Guillermo’s mother, poking his head into the kitchen. “Thank you for inviting me in and brewing that fox milk.”</p><p>Guillermo says, “Hot chocolate.” </p><p>“Hot chocolate,” Nandor amends. “It was great. Guillermo didn’t even finish his.”</p><p>Guillermo rolls his eyes. His mother, oblivious, gives Nandor a short nod, and asks Guillermo: “¿<em>Estas saliendo</em>?”</p><p>She looks worried. He’s often been going out late for supernatural mercenary business. He does his best not to try to track in blood when he’s coming home, but sometimes you miss a spot.</p><p>“I have to help my friends, <em> Ama</em>. They need me again.” He may not have entirely explained the nitty gritty gory details of his time living among vampires, but he knows that this is a principle that she understands. It’s what she taught him, after all. </p><p>She smiles, and she gives him a halfway-hug. “<em> Cu</em><em>í</em><em>date, </em>Memo.” And she turns to Nandor. “Don’t hurt my son again.”</p><p>Before Nandor can say anything in response, Guillermo hustles him out the door. “Nandor, you should’ve called. How did you find our address, anyway?”</p><p>“Colin Robinson found you in the Book of Faces and performed some wizardry called geotagging.” Nandor grimaces. Guillermo guesses that Colin Robinson regaled him with an informative speech about Internet privacy settings in the modern age. “Anyways, what does your mother mean, hurting you? Does she think I’ll eat you or something? You smell like a church with those crucifixes and silver all over you-- urgh.” </p><p>Guillermo tries to pretend that doesn’t hurt. “Well, I’m a freelance vampire hunter now. I’m going to taste like Christ’s piss.” </p><p>He calls an Uber to take them to Staten Island and immerses himself texting in the Mosquito Collectors of the Tri-State Area’s group chat, ignoring Nandor’s grumbling about wanting to eat the Uber driver.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The wards around the house are intact -- in the sense that Guillermo almost trips over one.</p><p>“Watch where you’re going!” yells the lawn gnome. “Man, buddy, you’re gonna to upend a fella this way. Go around me.” </p><p>Guillermo wrinkles his nose. “Is this how security’s always like?” </p><p>“Oh, right,” the gnome says. He straightens his red pointy hat. His tone bored, he says,  “Are you affiliated with the Vampire Council or subsidiaries thereof, including but not limited to: the Crimson Night Walkers, the Hell-Bats, the Demon Denizens of the Dark LLC, and the International Cape Appreciation Society?” </p><p>“Um - no.” </p><p>“Are you affiliated with the Vampire Council and previously named associations in a current working relationship, in this case, defined as the arrangement in which one is either employed, contracted, subcontracted, bribed, or blackmailed to perform services for the above?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then go ahead.” The garden gnome disappears into a hole in the ground. </p><p>Guillermo says, “I think I can see one or two problems with this.” </p><p>“Right?” Nandor says. “Fucking dwarf. I had to cancel my membership for the International Cape Appreciation Society. I haven’t gone to a meeting in a hundred years or so, and they’re a bunch of old-fashioned fogeys who have never nominated me for their Best Caped Vampire of the Century award-- but I kind of liked their catalogue.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Guillermo d’Urbervilles! You’re just in time for the party!” Laszlo’s decked out in a scarlet-and-black doublet, his nails painted to match. </p><p>“Party?” Guillermo asks. He shoots Nandor a look. </p><p>Nandor curls back his lips. “Laszlo, this is a serious situation. I told you that we have to get rid of that thing.” </p><p>“<em>She </em> is not a thing,” Laszlo says, looking highly offended. On cue, a low keening sound erupts through the house, and Guillermo freezes. He can recognize that sound anywhere, having babysat neighbors and cousins when he was younger.</p><p>“You bit a baby again. Laszlo, what the <em> fuck</em>--”</p><p>This is yet another reason for the Vampire Council to go after them, these stupid vampires that Guillermo’s been unquestionably protecting out of a lingering sense of attachment. Of course, they had to break one of the biggest taboos and resign themselves to a creepy little monster that churns out blood-soaked diapers.</p><p>Before he can stop himself, he grabs Laszlo’s collar, a rosary twisted through his fingers. The beads sizzle against the vampire’s throat.  “I’ll have to put it down before the Council finds out. How old is it? What family did you take it from?” </p><p>“Hey, hey, back off!” Nandor’s immediately by them, tall and looming. “I did not hire you to slay Laszlo, Guillermo. If I wanted to kill him, I’d do it myself. And the same goes for Nadja. Although you can slay Colin Robinson if you like, no one really cares about him. But you are here to assess <em> that thing </em> and assist us with a solution.” </p><p>Guillermo makes himself let go. One step backward, then another, the rosary tucked back into his pocket. </p><p>Laszlo adjusts his collar and brushes the now-healing burn marks at his neck. “My. Someone’s become rather feisty. In any case, I’ll have you know that I’ve not bitten any baby. We’ve found ourselves in extraordinary circumstances, and I’ve come to regret my past abandonment of little, er, Bobby?-- Billy?-- Lindbergh Junior?-- in the Bronx. It’s time to take on the mantle of adoptive fatherhood.”</p><p>Guillermo says, haltingly, “You’re adopting a baby.”</p><p>“Indeed. Apple of my eye. My sweetpea poppet. My precious lamb.”</p><p>“That little beast, you mean,” mutters Nandor. </p><p>“Hey, I heard that. Take that back right now! Don’t be uncouth.” </p><p>“I’m being perfectly couth. That is a perfectly couth-worthy remark. Because I’m technically correct and your dead brain is frazzled from years of drinking foul blood and having freaky pervert sex--” </p><p>They hiss at each other, puffing up like those lizards with frilled necks. Guillermo patiently waits for them to come down. It’s a relief that a vampire baby isn’t involved, though knowing this household, this won’t be a problem that will be easily solved. </p><p>“Hey-ho, Guillermo!” Colin Robinson ambles into the living room. “I didn’t know you were invited to the baby shower. It’s great to see you back. Sorry for the ruckus -- I took a break from teaching the little one about the free market to taste some of this interesting tension in the air.” He chuckles.</p><p>Guillermo’s gaze is automatically drawn to the sling bundled up against Colin Robinson’s chest.</p><p>Fiery red fur frames the child’s small round face. Peeking out of the fabric are hints of twitching leathery wings. Her eyes are closed and she’s breathing in and out, in and out, and Guillermo catches a glimpse of sharp teeth. </p><p>“<em>Puta madre </em> -- that’s not a baby. That’s a chimera.” </p><p>“Manticore, actually,” Colin Robinson says, helpfully. </p><p>Laszlo calls down from the ceiling, wrestling with Nandor, “Her name’s Annie! Marie Antoinette Cravensworth!” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“So, how did you guys get hold of a manticore?”</p><p>They’re all in the library: Guillermo standing and the other vampires lounging on the armchairs. The manticore is in a playpen in the middle of the room, eagerly tearing off the head of a corpse that Nadja had brought back. She had come home five minutes earlier, bearing supplies for the apparent ‘baby shower.’</p><p>“Well, it’s a complicated story,” Laszlo begins, steepling his fingers. “A tale in which I discovered the challenging responsibilities of fatherhood and family. Two nights ago, it was a dark and not at all stormy night…”</p><p>“We found her on our doorstep,” Nadja says.</p><p>“Yes,” Laszlo says. “I opened the door, and there she was!”</p><p>Guillermo waits for Laszlo to further expand, but he doesn’t. He presses, “So, you have no idea where she’s from? Whether she has manticore parents, or if this is a trap sent by the Vampire Council--?” </p><p>Laszlo bristles. “Now, hang on, I won’t let you impugn Annie’s honor. She’s a baby. How’s she going to assassinate us?”</p><p>Guillermo: “Three rows of crushing teeth?” </p><p>Nandor: “Claws that can rip a fellow limb from limb if he’s not careful.” </p><p>Colin Robinson: “That scorpion tail’s a real stinger. I had to zip tie it up.” </p><p>Nadja: “Truthfully, darling, her loud shrieking cries can be very noisy. It makes me want to walk out into sunlight sometimes.”</p><p>Laszlo waves his hand dismissively. “Besides that.” </p><p>The manticore tips her head up from the corpse, bits of flesh and viscera dripping from her maw. Laszlo gives her a little wave and she gurgles, her wings fluttering. </p><p>“We are not keeping it,” Nandor says, glaring. “That is why I brought Guillermo here. He shall determine if this creature is a tool of the Vampire Council or other enemies -- and it is, by the way, I am calling it now -- and we shall eliminate it by any means necessary.”</p><p>Nadja says, “That seems a little harsh, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Well, we can still keep it,” Nandor accedes. “We can stuff it and put it on the wall. Maybe next to the Nemean lion hide.”</p><p>Nadja shrugs. “Oh. That’s okay, then.” </p><p>Which prompts a growl from Laszlo. “No, that’s not bloody okay! True, she would make a tasteful centerpiece next to that nude statue I sculpted of you last spring, but she’s part of our family. We don’t taxidermy our family.” </p><p>“In some cultures, embalming is regarded as a sacred process,” Colin Robinson says. “Take Egyptian mummies. They removed the organs and stored them in decorated jars, then prepared the body by stuffing it with incense and other material. Now, I’m no Egyptian, but I’ve got that little heart symbol on my driver’s license to show that I’m an organ donor because it just seems fair to give back, you know? Of course, even if it’s a heart, it also signals the willingness to give up your eyes and tissues, too...” </p><p>Guillermo puts his hands over his ears. Nadja follows suit, while Nandor yanks two plush pillows from the couch to sandwich between his head. Laszlo starts singing very loudly, a muffled tune that Guillermo thinks is Smash Mouth’s ‘All Star,’ but he’s not one hundred percent sure.</p><p>The manticore falls face first into the corpse.</p><p>Colin Robinson’s mouth stops moving. Guillermo lifts away his hands. </p><p>“Aw, shucks,” says the energy vampire. “Sorry about that. We should put down foam mats for the kid.” </p><p>Guillermo sighs and addresses everyone in the room. “Nandor did hire me. I’ll help you figure out, um, Annie’s origins. Whether we need to ship her back to the Council, or perform an exorcism, or whatever.”</p><p>Nadja says, “She’s not a ghost, Guillermo Degrassi. Why would she require an exorcism?”</p><p>“She could still be possessed by a demonic entity,” Guillermo points out. “Or she could’ve been summoned from Hell.” </p><p>However, it’s not high on the list of possibilities. From the chatter that Guillermo’s heard from other mercs, you either need a pentagram or a fax machine to conduct underworld rituals. The Staten Island vampires’ fax machine has been broken since 2010.</p><p>“Can you say that again?” Nandor says, the pillows still smothering his ears. “WE THROW HER -- DOWN -- A --WELL?”</p><p>Guillermo arches his eyebrows, and, half a beat later, Nandor sheepishly tosses the cushions onto the carpet. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Supernatural bounty hunting work involves a lot more research and foresight than you might initially think.</p><p>For instance, you can’t simply pick a vampire target and go, oh, I’ll bring a clove of garlic and a stake, and I’ll win, easy. No, you have to take into account what Guillermo likes to think of as the three As.</p><p>Arms. What weapons are they fond of? Will they whip out a pistol and start shooting, or will they come swinging at you with a cutlass? </p><p>Abilities. What powers do they have? Will they try to hypnotize you? Can they read minds or sprout tentacles?</p><p>Lastly: Attractiveness. Which is not a stat that Guillermo will ever readily admit to anyone else, but there are some vampires who personify unearthly beauty. The kind of beauty that lures unsuspecting victims to their clutches, eager to be devoured by these all-consuming monsters-- the kind of beauty that produces vampires dressed in elaborate period outfits, sweeping capes and flowing dark hair. </p><p>(It’s hard to face someone you want to kneel before and beg: <em> Bite me. Turn me into a vampire like you. I’ll do anything to keep this beauty in my life.</em>)</p><p>So, Guillermo is prepared. He stuffs his ears with cotton when he confronts a vampire with a talent for mesmerism. He brings a silver knife to a gun fight. </p><p>And he refuses to become flustered by Nandor the Relentless, except there are some habits that a decade can’t shake. </p><p>Maddeningly close, Nandor peers to see the laptop screen. His long hair cascades over Guillermo’s shoulders, rivulets of smooth thick darkness.</p><p>Guillermo’s designing a poster in Photoshop that reads:</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>FOUND MANTICORE</p>
  <p>Do you know this manticore?</p>
  <p>-Female cub</p>
  <p>-Yellow eyes, golden fur, black wings</p>
  <p>-Found on Staten Island on 26 July 2021</p>
  <p>-No collar, not microchipped</p>
  <p>-Not litter box trained</p>
  <p>-Fond of eating short-haired humans starting w/ ears</p>
  <p>-Likes classic rock music</p>
  <p>If she’s yours, please call Guillermo at (347) 0503 -1990.</p>
</blockquote><p>“Are you done yet?” Nandor asks. </p><p>“Almost.” Guillermo centers the photo of Annie a little more. Next, download, then post the flyer on the relevant forums and send inquiries through his merc contacts...</p><p>Nandor’s still hovering. </p><p>“Is there something you need?” Guillermo says. </p><p>“I was planning to go to the mall tonight,” Nandor says. “You know, for a good mauling. Would you like to come along?” </p><p>Guillermo pauses. He’s spent many nights at the Staten Island Mall with Nandor. Usually, Nandor would pull a lone shopper into some dark corner, and then Guillermo would clean up the mess. </p><p>“I’m not your familiar anymore, Nandor. You can dispose of your own bodies. Feed them to Annie.”</p><p>Nandor glowers at the mention of the manticore. “I want to go to the mall movie theatres. That little beast would get me kicked out with her howling. And I know you’re not my familiar -- obviously -- but maybe you wouldn’t mind catching a movie while I’m dining? Two bulls with one cannonball.” </p><p>“Birds, stone,” Guillermo corrects, absent-mindedly. The realization hits him. “Wait, are you asking me out to the movies?” </p><p>This is definitely an underhanded way to get free non-manticore-related labor out of him, right?</p><p>“That’s what I said,” Nandor says. “I will be going out of the house to the movie theaters at the mall. I don’t want to be stuck here any longer, especially with you-know-what being fussed over. If you don’t want to be stuck, either, you can come along if you wish. I’m not forcing you.” </p><p>Guillermo says, slowly, “There is a new horror movie that I want to watch.” </p><p>“Then you can watch that. Guillermo, fetch my mauling cape--” Nandor cuts himself off in time. “Never mind. I’ll get it. I bet you’ve forgotten which one it is, anyway.” </p><p>Bewildered, Guillermo watches him stomp off to his crypt. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Onscreen, a ghostly girl drifts through a hallway. She has wispy white hair and claw-like fingers, and her body begins to contort into unnatural proportions. </p><p>“The fuck is this shit,” Nandor says. “She’s right behind you, idiot human! She’s got a knife. She’s about to stab you. You are about to get stabbed in the back, because you are a dumbass who’s not paying attention.” </p><p>“<em>Shhhh</em>,” shushes someone from the row in front of them. </p><p>Shaky cam and the splattering of blood. Nandor flinches, and he seizes Guillermo’s arm. “See? What did I say? He should’ve known the curse was going to follow him next.” </p><p>“Yeah, horror movies are like that,” Guillermo says. “He should’ve left the house or called a priest.”</p><p>“I don’t like the p word, Guillermo,” Nandor says, with a frown.</p><p>“Bible-thumping assholes?” </p><p>“Better.”  </p><p>“<em>Shhhh,” </em>the person says again. </p><p>“<em>Shhh </em>you,” Nandor retorts, and hisses. </p><p>Guillermo continues munching on his popcorn while Nandor springs forward and bites the theatergoer’s neck. The movie isn't that great -- the special effects are terrible, and it’s factually incorrect about major aspects of paranormal spectral lore -- but he hasn’t seen movies on the big screen for a while. It’s much better than tackling his Netflix queue by himself. </p><p>When Nandor returns back to his seat, his mouth is blood-stained scarlet. Guillermo offers him a paper napkin, which Nandor accepts and dabs at his chin and beard. </p><p>Onscreen, the ghost girl glows, and her head rotates around and around in a circle.</p><p>“Weird,” Nandor murmurs, and he reaches for Guillermo’s hand settled on the armrest between them. Guillermo nearly chokes on a kernel, feeling his heart <em> leap </em> in his chest, more sudden than any jump scare.</p><p>Nandor’s fingers are a little cold. Then, the coolness retreats, and Guillermo is left wondering whether he imagined the entire thing. </p><p>Embarrassingly, Guillermo falls asleep not long after. As the end credits roll, Nandor pokes him. “Wake up, Guillermo. The movie’s over.” </p><p>Guillermo blinks open bleary eyes. Weariness pervades his bones, his limbs, his chest. You chase around a cerberus the entire day; you’re dragged to confront people from a chapter of your life you thought you left behind for good--</p><p>And Nandor the Relentless is looking at him, his eyes dark and open. <em> Jesus</em>, Guillermo thinks, <em> it’s like the touch of his hand again</em>. Eleven out of ten on Guillermo’s Attractiveness vampire hunting scale: Nandor the Relentless, swift with scimitars, crap at hypnotism, turning rivers red and breaking his familiar’s pathetic pining heart. </p><p>“Sorry,” Guillermo says, stretching. “Let’s go home.” He doesn’t realize what he’s said until their Uber’s halfway back to the house. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“You’re back,” says the lawn gnome.</p><p>“I told him to upgrade the security measures,” Nandor confides to Guillermo in a low undertone. “Listen.”</p><p>“What walks on four legs--”</p><p>Simultaneously: “Horse!” “Human.” </p><p>“Correct!” And the gnome pops back into his hole once again. </p><p>“I really don’t think that was much of an improvement,” Guillermo says. </p><p>“Guillermo, you do realize that humans don’t have four legs? I’m counting yours right now. One. Two.” </p><p>“I would’ve thought that you -- maybe met a sphinx before. Or would know about Odysseus.” Guillermo vaguely remembers his mythology unit in high school English literature class. </p><p>Nandor looks confused, but he says, firm, “Sphinxes are annoying creatures like manticores, and I go out of my way to avoid them. And of course I know about the legendary Greek tactician Odysseus. His wooden horse strategy was a turning point in the Trojan War. In warfare, feigned surrender or retreat can be incredibly valuable. You wouldn’t believe the dirty tricks that fucking Genghis Khan pulled back in the day. Here is a lesson to remember, Guillermo: never pursue a fleeing enemy.” </p><p>Guillermo stares at him. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Guillermo tries to get more research done, perusing the house’s library shelves for books on manticores. Unfortunately, the categorization is bafflingly haphazard as always -- sometimes they’re alphabetical; sometimes they’re grouped by the color of their covers; sometimes they’re grouped by subject matter in logical ways (the military history books are always neatly arranged by era) or illogical ways that only make sense to the vampire residents (the <em> Ashley Book of Knots </em> is shelved next to <em> 120 Days of Sodom</em>).</p><p>It doesn’t help that it’s late and he’s exhausted  -- it’s almost three in the morning now. His sleep schedule has become rather erratic, with certain jobs taking place in the day and others at night. As Nandor’s familiar, he had more of a fixed routine: all-nighters, some chores in the day, and then he crashed hard in his closet room. </p><p>He’s nodding off over a medieval bestiary when Nandor says, “You can have Colin Robinson’s old room.”</p><p>“What?” Guillermo says, blinking. </p><p>“He moved to the other basement room,” Nandor explains, not looking up from the book he’s flipping through. “But his bed is still in there. Just go there instead of drooling over the armchair.” </p><p>“Oh,” Guillermo says. “Okay.”</p><p>The basement room smells like an office: paperwork, cologne, laundry detergent, and hand sanitizer. It’s almost enough to make him miss the closet under the stairs. But -- wow, is this memory foam? It’s like sleeping on a cloud. </p><p>Hours later, he awakens to a loud shattering noise. A glance at his phone tells him it’s 10:33 AM, and he’s up on his feet, stake in hand, running upstairs.</p><p>Laszlo is in the living room, frowning in consternation over fragments of a vase.</p><p>“What happened?” Guillermo says, huffing. </p><p>“My girl’s in one of her moods,” Laszlo says. “<em>Annie! </em> Come down here this instant! That was my second favorite spittoon.” </p><p>The manticore snaps her teeth at him. She’s clinging to one of the overhanging chandeliers, scorpion tail swishing. </p><p>“I thought you’d be in coffin by now,” Guillermo says.</p><p>“I thought so, too, but this one’s keeping me up. So far, Colin Robinson’s been looking after her in the daytime, but he has work and can’t always cancel. He offered to bring Annie to his office because they have a child care center, but if you ask me, that’s just asking for trouble.” </p><p>Guillermo gapes. “That’s a terrible idea.” </p><p>“Human children can be merciless bullying brutes. They’d never accept her for being different.”</p><p>Or for trying to eat them, because she’s a <em> manticore. </em></p><p>Guillermo reaches into his pocket and finds the ears that he had lopped off from Nandor’s victim last night. He raises his voice. “Annie! Here! Fetch!”</p><p>“Guillermo Defenestration, she’s not a dog!” </p><p>Eventually, they coax Annie down. She lays curled in Laszlo’s lap, nibbling on an ear. </p><p>“I think it’s a texture thing,” Guillermo says. He runs his hands through his hair, studying the creature. “Laszlo, you know that you can’t keep her, right? I won’t kill her, but--” He gesticulates helplessly. “She doesn’t have space to run and fly around. You can’t watch her during the day. And maybe she does have a manticore family out there that misses her. I’m not saying you’re a bad dad -- what do I even know, I’ve never had one  -- but there’s probably a better place for her out there.” </p><p>Laszlo doesn’t respond at first. Then: “You’re in no position to lecture me. You’re Nandor’s old familiar, for night’s sake, and you’re only here because he’s arse over tit.” </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Never mind,” Laszlo says, his lips pursed. “You’ve made a fair point. A baby is a ton of commitment.” </p><p>“That’s what I’ve been saying,” says Nadja, entering the room. She’s wearing a silk see-through nightgown that Guillermo averts his eyes from. “Annie is a sweetheart, and she’ll grow up to be a wonderful wrathful beast. And I love singing songs to her with you.” </p><p>“Are you teaching her the original <em> Row, Row, Row Your Boat</em>?” Guillermo blurts out, appalled.</p><p>“Of course not,” Nadja says. “She’s just a naive babe. But, Laszlo, it is like what happened with Jenna. You and I, we are strong, powerful, old immortals, and we’ve settled down here on Staten Island with our own home and routine and little adventures. Change is hard. Other people, they are hard, too, whether they stay or leave or keep coming in and out of our long lives. Simon, Lilith, Topher, Elvis… we must decide what change works best for <em> us</em>, and let other people have their own paths. Because <em> we</em>, my love, <em> we </em> are forever. Ever since I saw you through the window.”</p><p>“My window wraith,” Laszlo says, smiling. “My moonlit monstrous maiden. My maker and unmaker of my soul. ” Gently, he eases Annie from his lap and gives her to Guillermo -- Guillermo eyes her scorpion tail warily --  and Laszlo walks over and takes Nadja’s hands into his. </p><p>Addressing Guillermo, Laszlo says, “Alright, we’re kipping off. Find a happy home for my Annie. And clean up that poor broken spittoon.” </p><p>“I don’t do that anymore.”</p><p>“Hm? Pity.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p>For the rest of the day, Guillermo’s saddled with the manticore. She’s a handful -- leaping at the large taxidermy bear in the fancy room and submerging her head in the bathroom toilet -- but she doesn’t attempt to attack him. She watches him with curious yellow eyes as he checks her for signs of demonic possession -- nope, clean -- and then he checks his email, hoping for any clues about her background. </p><p>As far as he can tell, no one local has ever heard of her. None of the nature reserves in the area count manticores among their preternatural wildlife population. None of the prominent supernatural beings in the five boroughs are rumored to have a manticore as a companion or familiar.</p><p>Even his vampire contacts turn up empty.</p><p>
  <em> -Hey Leon, this probably sounds weird, but have you ever heard of the Vampire Council using a baby manticore to assassinate their enemies?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -nah, bro. those old fossils have no imagination and that sounds super unreliable. sorry, who is this again? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -Guillermo de la Cruz. I helped your coven deal with that coup problem two months ago. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -oh yah. much appreciated. btw, ur really cute and cool. shame about the vampire hunter thing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -Thanks </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -u single? </em>
</p><p>Guillermo almost drops his phone. Yeah, that’s a dead end.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Sundown. Colin Robinson has returned from work, granting Guillermo a reprieve from babysitting. Laszlo and Nadja have slipped out to feed for the night, promising to bring back something for Annie. </p><p>And then there’s Nandor. Sleepy surprise sparks in his eyes when he sees Guillermo standing next to his coffin. “Did something happen? Do I need to spear the beast?”</p><p>Guillermo shakes his head. “It’s time to get up. You slept in a bit.” </p><p>“Oh,” Nandor says. “I’ve been… well. Doing that lately.”</p><p>“You could get an alarm clock,” Guillermo says, who very well knows the reason why Nandor’s sleeping in.</p><p>“An alarm clock,” Nandor says, “cannot hold my hand.” </p><p>They stare at each other for several seconds. Master and former familiar caught, bound, this thread between them, this elongated string of steady burning devotion.</p><p>And this, Guillermo thinks. This can’t be real. He has felt. He has <em>wanted</em>, more and more than anything else. A sad slow heartbreak of a decade plus -- <em> your mouth on my mouth; your teeth on my throat; held and held by those strong hands, relentless and relenting. </em></p><p>“What are you thinking, Guillermo?” Nandor says, disrupting the silence. “Hm, Mr. Big Deal Vampire Hunter? Are you thinking of the ways you can stake my heart, rip off my head, and fill me with garlic? All the things you could have said and done while I made you scrape and bow and serve me.” </p><p>“Nandor, I was <em> proud </em> to be your familiar.” He was. He always will be. </p><p>“But you left me.” </p><p>“It was time for a change.” Guillermo thinks of what Nadja had told Laszlo. “It wasn’t easy. But it was the right thing to do.” </p><p>Nandor blinks up at him. “And you’re happier now?” </p><p>“I am,” Guillermo says. He holds out his hand. “Come on, it’s time to get up.” </p><p>He helps Nandor get dressed. It is the same and different, and when he reaches his hand out to drag through Nandor’s hair while he brushes it, Nandor lets out a hum that reverberates against him. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Guillermo gathers everyone in the fancy room. It’s the denouement, the moment when a detective solves a mystery, while an expectant audience hangs onto their every word.</p><p>He says, “There’s something you’re not telling me.” </p><p>Nadja frowns. “What do you mean by that, Guillermo de Blasio?” </p><p>Guillermo stops in his tracks. “Okay, no. That’s insulting. Please don’t ever call me that again.” </p><p>“Sor-ry,” she says, sing-song and unapologetic. </p><p>He turns to Nandor, who’s fiddling with a feather quill pen. “Nandor, you like animals <em> a lot.</em>” </p><p>“That is true,” Nandor acknowledges. “I was one of the best horsemen in Al Quolanudar. I was a horse whisperer before they called it horse whispering, because I did not need to whisper. I’d merely wave to them and they’d follow my command.” </p><p>“But you don’t like manticores.”</p><p>“So? I don’t have to like <em> every </em> animal of <em> every </em> species.” </p><p>“You follow every turtle you see in the park,” Guillermo says. “You learned to turn into a dog so you could gossip with the neighborhood pets. For crying out loud, you kept pestering me to take pictures of Black Peter every time I visited the Brooklyn witch coven!” </p><p>“Goats are pretty rad,” says Colin Robinson. “Or should I say: not baaaaad.”</p><p>Everyone ignores him.</p><p>Nandor says, “So, Guillermo? And what’s your point?” He twirls the feather quill in an arc, and Guillermo quickly plucks it out of the air. “Hey, be careful with that. George used that to sign some important paperwork.” </p><p>Guillermo lobs the quill toward Annie. She’s on the carpet playing with an eyeball--</p><p>--and, gracefully, she catches it with a snap of her jaw.</p><p>Nandor says: </p><p>
  <em> “!بندازش” </em>
</p><p>To Guillermo’s ears, it sounds like <em> ben-da-zesh</em>, his intonation forceful and commanding. Annie perks up, and, in the blink of the eye, she unhinges her jaw and sends the feather floating down to the floor.</p><p>“Seriously?” Laszlo says. “You knew how to speak to her all along?”</p><p>“I barely remember it,” Nandor says, scowling. “But there are some things you can’t forget. These <em> beasts</em>.” </p><p>“All the sources I’ve read say that manticores are from Persian mythology,” Guillermo says. “Which we know are actually real, so -- Nandor, you’ve come across manticores before. You know where Annie’s from and who left her here.” </p><p>The expression on Nandor’s face darkens like a storm cloud. “I have an idea, but I’m not completely sure.”</p><p>“Khosrow,” Guillermo says. “The Death Defier. The Mighty Vanquisher.” The name had kept coming up on the forums.</p><p>
  <em> Manticores? That sounds like Khosrow’s shtick, even though he’s based nowhere near Staten Island.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There’s only one vamp I know that collects manticores, and that’s Khosrow. Dude showed up at the Istanbul Unholy Masquerade with a pack of them dressed in costume. </em>
</p><p>Nandor says, “He turned me.” He’s studying the ring on his finger, not looking up at any of them. </p><p>That had been Guillermo’s theory. Khosrow is in the right age range, so to speak. But it’s startling to hear it confirmed… What kind of person is Nandor’s sire? </p><p>“Oh!” Nadja says, clapping her hands. “You know your creator! I never found out who turned me. I vowed to wring her sneaky, snakey neck for biting me and abandoning me. I never got around to it, though. Kept slipping my mind.”</p><p>“I think I’ve heard of that Khosrow chap,” Laszlo muses, thoughtfully. “He’s got an entire underground castle set-up where he throws the biggest parties. Who would’ve thought that our Nandor’s patron is a big name celebrity in the vampire world?” </p><p>Nandor shoots Laszlo a dirty look. “It was a long time ago. I haven’t seen him in centuries.” </p><p>“Which begs the question,” Laszlo says. “Why would he drop a baby manticore on our doorstep?” </p><p>The doorbell rings, discordant and warbling. Annie lets out a caterwauling cry and zooms out of the fancy room. </p><p>“I’m assuming that’s him,” Colin Robinson says. “The universe really does have a dramatic sense of timing, huh? Hey, Nandor, you’re looking a little peaky.” He sounds delighted. Nandor hisses. </p><p>Guillermo counts the stakes holstered to his belt. They’re all there. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The first thing that takes Guillermo by surprise about the visitor is how young he appears. He seems barely out of his teenage years, light stubble on his face, wearing blue-washed jeans underneath an emerald green kurta. He’s accompanied by a full-grown manticore, who’s currently touching noses with Annie. </p><p>The visitor greets Nandor in another language. Nandor replies, “I don’t speak that anymore.” </p><p>“Really?” says the vampire, incredulous. “You should practice, <em> jigar</em>. I’m sure it’ll come back to you in time.” </p><p>“Don’t call me that!” Nandor snaps. “How did you get past the security gnomes?”</p><p>“That little thing?” says the vampire. “It asked me to recite the first fifty digits of pi.”</p><p>That’s… slightly better. “You know the first fifty digits of pi?” Guillermo says, impressed, despite himself.</p><p>“I looked it up. BlackBerry Bold. One day, they’ll figure out how to make smartphones that vampires can use, but for now, I must stick with the classics.”  The vampire pauses. “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m known as Khosrow. Let’s see -- you’re Nadja, Laszlo Cravensworth, Colin Robinson, and Guillermo de la Cruz.” </p><p>Nadja curtseys; Laszlo bows; Guillermo nods; Colin Robinson says, “Ahoy, matey.” </p><p>“You’re not invited into our house,” Nandor says. “I don’t know what you’re doing on this side of the sea, but you’re not welcome. Take the beast and go.” </p><p>“Don’t be rude,” Laszlo says, glaring. “Ignore my associate’s ill manners, Khosrow. We’re flattered to have a guest of your calibre.” </p><p>“No, it’s understandable,” Khosrow assures him. “He and I parted on bad terms. I’ll explain myself and my intentions… and, Mr. de la Cruz, I <em> do </em>hope you have better manners toward me compared to the last vampire guests that have come through this entryway.” He flashes his fangs.</p><p>“Not unless you give me a reason,” Guillermo says. </p><p>Nandor hisses, “Stake him, Guillermo. There’s your reason -- I asked.”</p><p>Guillermo considers it. Then he shakes his head. He whispers: “Let him talk. We’ll chase him and his manticores out if we need to, but I think he just wants to talk. If he’s an old friend of yours…” </p><p>Nandor’s eyes glimmer, dark and swirling. “You have no idea what he’s capable of.”</p><p>“And you know what I’m capable of.”</p><p>Nandor mutters something that sounds like, “<em>ugh, he thinks he’s so cool now</em>.” He shoulders his way past Guillermo and plops himself down on the couch in the living room.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It’s a full moon night. Somewhere out there, werewolves are howling, bike-locked to trees and lampposts.</p><p>At Khosrow’s suggestion, they all go out to the backyard, sipping blood (or in Guillemro’s case, water) in teacups. Khosrow admires Laszlo’s topiary -- trades insights with Colin Robinson about urban planning in American versus European cities -- and compliments Nadja’s makeup. Annie and the adult manticore frolic across the grass.</p><p>Nandor sits in sullen silence, not drinking his blood. </p><p>“So,” Nadja says, after Khosrow has finished recommending eyeshadow brands to her, “what brings you all the way to Staten Island? I doubt it is the quality of American blood.” </p><p>“He brought me here,” Khosrow says, inclining his head toward Nandor. “I heard about the mess with the Council, and it brought back old memories. Because I missed you.” He directs the last sentence to the vampire in question. </p><p>Nandor sneers. “You have no right to show up here -- to befriend my friends-- to gift me that monster.” </p><p>“Annie’s a present?” Laszlo asks.</p><p>“Is that what you’re calling her?” Khosrow says, amused, stirring his blood with a spoon. “The hard-knock life.” </p><p>Laszlo makes a noise of agreement, though clearly doesn’t understand the reference. </p><p>Guillermo is leaning against one of the bushes, half-illuminated by the pathway lights. He says, “What happened?” </p><p>“It’s the typical story,” Khosrow says. “I saved his life. He was dying on a battlefield.” </p><p>“I was not dying! It was just a flesh wound!” </p><p>“He was pierced through with a sword. After draining him, I imparted him with some of my blood. Left him to his own devices, but then he was chased out of his country. And I found him.” </p><p>“We were friends, then we weren’t,” Nandor says, sharply. “That’s it. End of story.”</p><p>“Friends,” Khosrow repeats. “We were.” </p><p>Guillermo’s mouth is suddenly dry. <em> Holy shit. </em></p><p>Laszlo connects the dots, too. “Ah. We’ll leave you two to it. If you want company--”</p><p>“Do not suggest that,” Nandor says. “Don’t you dare suggest what you’re suggesting.” </p><p>“My good lady wife and I will be in our crypt,” Laszlo finishes.</p><p>Nadja squeezes Nandor on the arm as she heads back to the house. “Best of luck getting penetrated by your ex-beau.” </p><p>“Why do you immediately assume I was the one at that end, <em> fucking hell</em>--” </p><p>Guillermo thinks that his brain is screaming. It’s like a high-pitched white noise that drowns out all rational thought. Obviously -- obviously -- vampires get around. <em> Nandor </em> gets around, all those orgies, all those victims, several of whom that Nandor has seduced before draining. </p><p>Yet this is a reminder that Guillermo really doesn’t know anything, does he? Nandor’s lived for hundreds of years. He’s lain with vampires and humans and who-knows-what-else. Guillermo de la Cruz doesn’t mean anything, won’t mean anything, because he was there for eleven years and Nandor never touched him.</p><p>(Even if he has been looking in a way that makes Guillermo wonder. Even if he has touched Guillermo’s hand in the dark more times than he can ever count.) </p><p>And Khosrow is saying, “It’s a pity, Nandor. Your friends are sweet, but you’re being wasted here.” </p><p>“What are you talking about?” Nandor says, his brow furrowed. </p><p>“You’ve forgotten your own mother tongue,” Khosrow murmurs. “I doubt you’ve had a proper duel in ages. And the ignorant fools here, they don’t know who you are. They don’t truly know that you were a conqueror, a hero. The old crowd back at my palace -- we remember.” </p><p>Nandor says, flatly, “You’re asking me to come back.” </p><p>“I am.”</p><p>Guillermo interrupts, “Why now?” Both their heads turn, as if just remembering he’s still there, and he stammers, “This doesn’t -- this doesn’t make any sense. Hasn’t it been hundreds of years?”</p><p>“Well, your pet slayer caught me,” Khosrow says, wry. “This isn’t entirely altruistic. Immortality can be boring. I want to reconnect with you -- and prove that I can shield you from whatever inane threats the Council’s sending after you. Think of it as an apology.” </p><p>Nandor laughs, a disbelieving bark of a laugh. “I don’t need your protection.” </p><p>“Do you?” Khosrow says. “What’s he here for, then?”</p><p>Guillermo says, “I was hired to -- to help. I used to be his familiar, but I’m not anymore.” </p><p>Khosrow clicks his tongue. “Playing with holy water. Dangerous. I know your kind, Guillermo de la Cruz. A pitiful human trespassing into a world in which you don’t belong… hungry for power.” </p><p>“Yeah? You want to see power, you asshole--” </p><p>To Guillermo’s shock, Nandor holds him back. It’s almost as if he teleported -- hunched in the lawn chair one moment, then, he’s bearing upon him like an anchor, cape billowing, hands gripping Guillermo’s wrists. His fingernails dig into skin, curved and pinching. </p><p>“Guillermo,” Nandor says, “drop it.”</p><p>“But--” </p><p>“Go back inside the house,” Nandor says. “I will talk to him. And take Colin Robinson with you. He’s going to get big-headed again.” Guillermo opens his mouth to object, but Nandor regards him with uncharacteristic solemnity. “Do not forget that I hired you, Guillermo, and there are some orders that you must still obey. <em> Go.</em>” </p><p>Guillermo goes, dragging a protesting Colin Robinson by the sleeve. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know what leads him back to the cupboard underneath the stairs, but his feet find their way there. It’s how he left it, walls bare, sheets neatly made and ‘beating off’ pillow laying there forlornly.</p><p>He sits on the bed. He closes his eyes, and he thinks that he can’t wait until the next job. Maybe he’ll claim that bounty on that vampire in the Bronx who’s been crudely leaving bodies out in the open. </p><p>Sometime later, opening his eyes, he notices a small puppet perched on the bed next to him. He recognizes it -- he made it, after all, dark-haired, glasses-wearing. It had been painstaking work, salvaging scraps from victims’ clothing and rummaging through the household’s hodgepodge art supplies.  </p><p>He picks it up. He barely reacts to Nandor entering the room. </p><p>“You left it in your bedside drawer. I found it, after I found your ‘sorry’ note.” </p><p>The puppet is… himself. Guillermo de la Cruz. But an imagined vampire version of himself, cape-clad, pale. No longer a familiar. No longer a human. </p><p>“I always wondered why you made those marionette dolls of everyone in the house except for yourself,” Nandor continues. “But it looks like you did.” </p><p>“I was waiting until I could use it,” Guillermo says, quietly. He rubs his thumb against the fine material of the puppet’s cloak. “Are you leaving? With him?”</p><p>Nandor shakes his head. He settles onto the bed beside Guillermo, smoothing his cape with the motion.</p><p>“What happened?” Guillermo asks, for not the first time that night.</p><p>He thinks: <em> I hate it. I hate not knowing the full story. I hate not belonging in this strange world of magic and blood. All I can do is kill things in the darkness.  </em></p><p>Khosrow had been right about him. </p><p>“A long time ago,” Nandor says, “we were close, he and I. Like brothers, but not really brothers, because, you know.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Guillermo says, feeling slightly hysterical, “I understand the implication.”</p><p>“Oh, good. You humans can get pretty weird about stuff like that sometimes.” </p><p>“-- Nandor, I’m gay.” At Nandor’s blank expression, and what Guillermo’s pretty sure will be an impending comment about him not seeming particularly joyful at the moment, Guillermo clarifies, “Um, attracted to only guys. Not women. Not that there’s anything wrong with liking women or liking everyone, but for me, it’s exclusively… male-identifying people.” </p><p>“Then why didn’t you just say that?” Nandor says, baffled. “Anyways. It is as Khosrow said. He found me when I was wandering the mountains after I was banished from Al Quolanudar. I was still getting a handle on my vampiric powers, and, to be honest, I wasn’t used to being on my own. When you’re a warlord, you’re accustomed to being surrounded by your soldiers, servants, wives...</p><p>“We were inseparable for the next couple decades. We led a campaign against a rival coven. Won a feather from a simurgh -- used it as a lamp until it almost burned the castle to the ground. And Khosrow’s harp-playing is unmatched, superior to any court musician.” </p><p>The wistfulness in Nandor’s voice makes something stir in Guillermo’s stomach, bitter and ugly. Smothering it, he says, “But you had a bad falling-out?” </p><p>“It was his prize manticore’s fault,” Nandor says. “She tore up my favorite cape.” </p><p>What -- “<em>That’s </em> why you guys broke up?” </p><p>“It’s about the principle of the thing,” Nandor says, crossing his arms. “Roya is a magnificent beast, and I enjoyed hunting beside her. I used to fly on her back and rain down arrows on our enemies. But Khosrow lets her get away with <em> everything</em>, and she almost ate one of the local wild karkadann.”</p><p>“Karkadann?” </p><p>“It’s kind of like -- what’s the name for it? That type of horse that would like you and follow you around, Guillermo.” </p><p>“Like a trained horse? A petting zoo horse?” </p><p>“No, the one with the horn.” </p><p>“--Unicorn.” </p><p>“A karkadann is like a unicorn that slaughters any foe that intrudes into its territory.” </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Guillermo listens as Nandor waxes poetic about the karkadann. Internally, he speculates about the things unsaid. Maybe the modern mundane equivalent would be like dating a crazy cat person? Or, maybe, it was frustration about someone who wasn’t all that sympathetic when you were upset, no matter how trivial the matter. Guillermo can relate -- <em> eleven years! </em>-- although he wishes Nandor understood the hypocrisy.</p><p>But he and Nandor were never <em> together</em>, and he supposes that relationships between vampires have their own unique messiness.</p><p>“So you’re not going back to him,” Guillermo says, eventually.</p><p>Nandor, demonstrating how a karkadann drives its horn into prey, pauses mid-headbutt. His scowl is thunderous, from the twist of his mouth to the furrow of his brow.  “You think I want<em> him?</em> <em>Him</em>, that wannabe boy-king, that arrogant lion-lover, that honey-tongued insincere shit?” </p><p>And Guillermo asks: “What do you want?”</p><p>“I am fine with life here on Staten Island,” Nandor says, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Nadja and Laszlo are decent company, even if their quarreling and lovemaking drives me up the walls. Even Colin Robinson isn’t so bad, when I manage to forget his existence. Plus, I like my crypt. It took ages to get everything decorated the right way.” </p><p>“I know,” Guillermo says, remembering arranging and rearranging various weapons and artifacts.</p><p>Gently, Nandor nudges his knee against Guillermo’s. “You should not look so sad, Guillermo. You told me earlier that you were happy. I am pleased that you are.” </p><p>“Master,” Guillermo says, because he cannot stop it. He cannot stop the title passing from his mouth like a prayer.  “Why wasn’t I enough? Why was -- everything I did -- why wasn’t it enough?”</p><p>“What do you mean, enough? I never said you weren’t hard working, or loyal. Of course you were.” </p><p>“You didn’t think it was worth it. To make me a vampire -- or even, I don’t know, to <em> ask. </em> Anything from me, and I would’ve given it to you. I would’ve still stayed with you, if you turned me. I would’ve -- learned to play the fucking harp for you, or taken over a city for you, all the while waiting on you hand and foot. I told you, I was proud <em> … </em> because… because I <em> loved </em> you.” </p><p>And Nandor looks at him, his eyes impossibly old and tired. “Is that love, Guillermo? The fact that you would’ve done anything for me, because of one promise I made? Giving you fangs and an allergy to sunlight? Look at you now.” He jabs his finger against Guillermo’s chest. “You’re not a warrior because you’re a vampire. You’re not a good man, a <em> hero</em>, who saved his friends because you’re a vampire.” </p><p>“Don’t fucking pretend like it was a wise decision you made because you care about me becoming my own person,” Guillermo says, furiously. “You were lazy. You took me for granted.” </p><p>“Maybe I did a little, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”</p><p><em> “Why do Nadja and Laszlo get forever and we don’t?” </em> </p><p>Silence. </p><p>Nandor says, frostily, “We are not Nadja and Laszlo.”</p><p>“But we could be,” Guillermo says. “I mean, not exactly. They’re their own brand of crazy.” He sighs, and he stares at the vampire puppet of himself clenched in his hand. “Walking away --  it <em> was </em> better for me. You’re right that I didn’t need to be a vampire to be badass, or brave, or whatever I’ve been doing with all these stakes. But I still want-- <em> you. </em> I can’t help that. Nandor, eleven years… Why did you ask me to come back? You already knew that Khosrow sent Annie.” </p><p>“Because I could not forget you, either,” Nandor says. “And I hoped you would be here. I wanted to make sure that you were happy, and to know for certain-- I do not feel for him as I do you.” </p><p>Guillermo says, “You--” </p><p>“Do not make me say it again,” Nandor says, frowning. “And don’t treat this as a victory -- or a declaration -- or anything of the sort. “</p><p>“You love me,” Guillermo says, “<em>you </em>--”</p><p>“Stop saying that,” Nandor says, and his hands are on Guillermo’s face, cupping his cheeks, their gazes centered on each other. “I cannot give you everything you want, Guillermo de la Cruz. I cannot make you happier than the happiness you have found.” </p><p>Guillermo laughs, breathless. His head is spinning, and he wonders if he’s dreaming. “You knew. You always knew. You wanted that, too -- that sentimental fucking <em> forever </em>-- but you were scared.” </p><p>“You were a child!” </p><p>“I was nineteen, and I got older. That’s how human aging works.” </p><p>“And you said you would have done anything for me,” Nandor says, his eyes hard again.</p><p>“What haven’t I already done for you? I’ve killed for you. I’ve risked so much for you--” </p><p>“So have I! I put my life on the line with the Council -- twice.”</p><p>“This isn’t a competition,” Guillermo says. He tips his head forward, until their foreheads are pressing against each other, until their breaths are intermingling.  “And you do make me happy, Nandor. You do.”</p><p>He says, “Can I kiss you?” </p><p>And Nandor <em> trembles. </em> His fingers on Guillermo’s face quivering; his breath, indrawn; and his lips, half-parted, fangs gleaming in the closet’s dim light.</p><p>“Unicorns,” Nandor says, “will not be drawn to you any longer if you let me have you tonight.” </p><p>“I don’t give a fuck about what unicorns think about my virtue.” </p><p>“Well, you should. I have never seen one before, but I hear that they’re majestic creatures.”</p><p>Guillermo says, “I’m not asking for forever. Not right now, because… it’s a lot to ask. But I heard you say that you have <em> feelings </em> for me, which, I don’t know, I might’ve been waiting to hear from you for eleven years, and-- you’re allowed. You’re more than allowed.” </p><p>“To fuck you.” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“To have a taste of your blood before I <em> ruin </em> you--” </p><p>“Master--”</p><p>And Nandor is on him, straddling his lap, pressing him down onto the bed, cold hands and hot mouth and sharp teeth. The puppet in Guillermo’s hand slips out of his grip and onto the floor, and he is lost -- they are lost -- in a haze of red and black. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next afternoon, he wakes up, drained in more than one meaning of the word. Nandor is dead to the world, sleeping soundless in the bed, Guillermo crammed up against him. </p><p>He disentangles himself; he traces the bitemarks arced above his collarbone and circling his neck. They do not look like the products of a vicious animal attack, more like the outlines of half-moons and full-moons against a sweeping sky.</p><p>He takes out his phone, rereads the message that Leon had sent him, marked read and unreplied:</p><p>
  <em> -u single? </em>
</p><p><em> No, </em>Guillermo types, and hits send. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Dusk falls. In the darkening sky, the moon is beginning to wax gibbous. Khosrow is about to depart, but not before he insists on putting on a performance with Laszlo and Nadja.</p><p>Khosrow on a harp; Laszlo on a guitar; Nadja singing. Colin Robinson clicks his fingers out of time, while Guillermo looks on, bemused. But it isn’t bad to watch like this: Nandor’s head on his lap while Guillermo sits on this grass, combing his fingers through his hair.</p><p>His eyes half-shuttered, Nandor says, “You are more territorial than a karkadann.” </p><p>“I’m not,” Guillermo says, as if he hadn’t been wearing a scarf the entire day, but had immediately taken it off when the vampires in the house had awoken. Khosrow hadn’t said anything, only raised an eyebrow at him, while Laszlo tried to give him a high-five. Topher’s influence, probably.</p><p>Nandor grins, lopsided and crooked. He says, “His harp-playing skills have not faded with time.” </p><p>“He does seem pretty good at it,” Guillermo says, refusing to rise to the bait.</p><p>Nandor hums. “I used to love dancing to whatever melodies he played. I never really danced when I was a warlord. Never had the time, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of my subjects. But it was easy to relish the more light-hearted pleasures of immortality when I was with him.  It just became too light, in the end, and I wanted to see more of the world outside of his castle and lands.” </p><p>“That’s one of the big reasons why I always wanted to be a vampire,” Guillermo admits. “I wanted to have all the time in the world to travel. I’d be strong and not afraid of anything. I could find and meet other supernatural beings. Like dragons. Merpeople.” </p><p>Before he wanted to be a vampire, he’d wanted to be a sea-witch like Ursula as a kid.</p><p>“You don’t need to be a vampire for that,” Nandor says, his head shifting as he peers up at Guillermo. “Don’t you have a network of your mercenary contacts by now? They would probably let you stay with them, or give you money for accommodation. You’d only have to keep on taking jobs. Bring back the odd rogue vampire head. Rescue phantom cats stuck up trees.” </p><p>Guillermo’s hand in Nandor’s hair falters. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. I love my mother, but I don’t want to bother her. And--”</p><p>“Do not let whatever this is hold you back,” Nandor says. “You are happy, remember? <em> Go. </em>Go to where you can walk out in the sunlight -- taste different human foods -- swim in saltwater to see vain giggling mermaids. I don’t personally understand the appeal -- I’d never suck mermaid blood, because it probably tastes like rotting fish. But you get my point.” </p><p>Guillermo says, “I don’t want to leave you.”</p><p>“You already did,” Nandor reminds him. </p><p>“I’m sorry--” </p><p>“And it is <em> fine</em>,” Nandor says. “The house is not going to sink into a sinkhole in the ground. I am not going to get devoured by a mangy werewolf. You do not need to be chained here, Guillermo.” </p><p>“You could come along. Like -- travel buddies or something." Guillermo flushes; it sounds dumb worded like that and not at all romantic. </p><p>“Pah! I am old and retired. I have already had my fair share of travels and adventures as a youth. Besides, somebody needs to lead house meetings and make sure that Laszlo and Nadja are keeping to hygienic feeding habits. And I would hate to abandon Maximus the greyhound of Ashley Street.” Nandor reaches back and folds his fingers around Guillermo’s wrist, circling his pulse. “You are alive. Live like it. Then come back, and we will see what’s next.” </p><p>It is not forever. But it is the idea of it, and it feels more real than a half-hearted promise to a teenager who had been desperate to prove himself. </p><p>Out in this wide world, there are more monsters and miracles than you can ever dream of. Things with claws, with teeth, with fire, with magic. There are things in the darkness that can destroy you with a single touch… and somewhere, on an island in America, there is a monster of the dark that loves you back.</p><p>Guillermo still doesn’t know if he belongs, really. He’s a hunter, silver and stakes strapped to his waist, unsaid prayers on his tongue. But there are more things to learn and experience. Discovering friends and enemies -- and perhaps family, too, finding out more about his Van Helsing roots. </p><p>And there will always be here. Home. Nandor the Relentless, utterly absurd and sweet and <em> his</em>. </p><p>“Okay,” Guillermo says, swallowing, a lump in his throat. “I -- I’ll make an itinerary. You can tell me about places that you think I should see. And you <em> are </em> going to learn how to use Skype, even if it takes Colin Robinson knocking you out multiple times until you get it.” </p><p>“I do not know what that is,” Nandor says. “But I hope it doesn’t hurt, unless it is in a good way, of course.”</p><p>Guillermo sees so much cybersex in their future. <em> So much. </em> </p><p>He laughs. He bends his head down, and they kiss. </p><p>Once they draw back, they’re interrupted by Annie, who pads toward them, whiskered nose twitching.</p><p>“You again?” Nandor says. He pulls himself up from Guillermo’s lap. </p><p>Guillermo shakes his head, exasperated, and he brings out some raw beef chunks that he’d bought from the grocery store earlier in the evening. It was kind of nice to realize that he could, in fact, feed a manticore without killing a fellow human being. </p><p>Annie perks up. She eagerly laps up the strips of meat, which are on top of a handkerchief unfurled on Guillermo’s hand. </p><p>“She’s just a cub,” Guillermo says. “Even if another one of Khosrow’s manticores ripped up your cape, it’s not her fault.” </p><p>“Yes, I am aware -- I am not a fool,” Nandor says, grudging, and he sighs. His hand creeps out, and he strokes her mane. “I almost forgot how soft their fur is when they’re young. When she gets older, she’s going to start growing spikes here.”  </p><p>Annie purrs. </p><p>Later, they leave: Khosrow, waving farewell, astride the back of the older manticore; Annie, winging behind them, a small figure fluttering in their wake. Laszlo is still plucking at the strings of his guitar, while Nadja sways, wordless, graceful. And for the first time, Nandor holds out his hand and asks Guillermo to dance with him. </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>